


starcrossed

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romeo and Juliet Fusion, Character Death, Duelling, Fake Character Death, Forbidden Love, M/M, Suicide, Trans Male Character, one-sided Lotor/Shiro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9924152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In Altea is a Feud to be found; and the objects of this Feud are two households, otherwise alike: one Holt and the other Shirogane; and from forth of these two foes shall come a pair of lovers, whose fates are crossed by stars, thus leaving them no recourse but to the grave.What, didst thou think'st this should end in rejoicing?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, when I say "Romeo and Juliet fusion" you should be hearing "I will kill everyone you love." Also, I'm not sorry about the Shakespearean English, you're just going to have to deal with it.
> 
> Now with lovely art!
> 
> http://aherotosaveme.tumblr.com/post/157927178729/did-my-heart-love-till-now-forswear-it-sight

In Altea two households doth dwell; who between them have a most calamitous grievance, though none now live who remember the cause. One household is called Holt, the other by Shirogane is named; a third family there is as well, that of the most just and beauteous Princess. Though the Feud may strike upon men’s hearts, the Princess has banned all quarrel and brawls, upon pain of death. Now indeed our tale begins in that fair city, where the scion of the household Holt, one Matthew by name, is recently returned to the city and rejoins his companions: his sister, baptized Katherine and yet called Pidge, and a kinsman of the Princess, one Lance by name.

“Good-morrow, brother,” said Pidge: a most agreeable girl, younger yet than what might be considered a woman, yet older still than what might be considered a girl; thirteen spring-times were on her face, and to her brother looked almost a twin. For while Matthew had seen a score of summers, he yet looked young; and the wars he returned from left no scar.

“Is the day so young?” replied Matthew.

“But new struck nine, what sadness lengthens my dear brother’s hours?”

“Not having that, which, having, makes them short.” He sighed and gazed out upon the courtyard of the household, his eyes falling upon the garden, wherein a gentle breeze ruffled the rose-petals. “Breeze, you linger around bright eyes whose loving sting pierces me so, till I feel it and weep.”

“In love?” Pidge said.

“Out—“

“Of love?”

“Out of her favor, where I am in love. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, should, without eyes, see pathways to his will. Dost thou not laugh?”

“No, I rather weep at they good heart’s oppression.” She laid one hand upon his shoulder. “Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?”

“In sadness, sister, I do love a woman and she’s fair I love.”

“I aim’d so near, when I supposed you loved.”

“Well, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit with Cupid’s arrow; she hath Diana’s wit; and, in strong proof of chastity well arm’d, from love’s weak childish bow she lives unharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, nor bide encounter of assailing eyes. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, to merit bliss by making me despair: she hath forsworn to love, and in that vow do I live dead that live to tell it now.”

“Give liberty unto thine eyes, examine other beauties and forget to think of her.”

“He that is struck blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost: show me a mistress that is passing fair; what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass’d that passing fair? Farewell, dear sister: thou canst not teach me to forget.”

“Thou hast had thine heart stolen a hundred-fold time, dear brother; perhaps wear it more guardedly, to protect thyself from Cupid’s dart.”

Yet all Matthew said was ‘Ay me,’ and returned to sighing with the wind.

❖

Upon the streets of Altea, two men walked side by side: the first was the esteemed Lord Shirogane himself, his raven’s-wing hair streaked with snow, his beard carefully trimmed; few lines sat upon his face, yet by the count of years he was no longer young. The second was a young cousin of the Princess, Lotor, who shared the curious trait of snow white hair with the Princess herself—a resemblance not unnoticed by the young lord, and to say he gave himself airs for it would not be untrue.

“Now, my lord,” Lotor said, “What say you to my suit?”

“But saying o’er what I have said before: my child is yet a stranger to this word, though she has seen the change of a score of years; let a few more summers wither in their pride, ere we think her ready to be a bride. Let an old man some support in his twilight years. The earth hath swallow’d most all my kin but she. Woo her, gentle Lotor, get her heart, my will to her consent is but a part; if she agree, within her scope of choice lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom’d feast, whereto I have invited many a guest, such as I love; and you, among the store, one more, most welcome, makes my number more.” He clapped his hands, and a servant appeared at his elbow. “Go, and find those persons out whose names are written here, and to them say my house and welcome on their pleasure stay.”

The servant bowed and took the note from his lord, and the two noblemen left in one way and the servant in another.

Perhaps it was well-starred that two young souls, a brother-sister pair, should have been walking along that very same street not so very long after; for there they met the third member of their band: a kinsman of the Princess, not so prideful as Lotor, who was called naught but Lance. In age he was middling between the siblings, of height neither short nor tall; yet indeed he captured every eye in a room upon entrance; for he was a beauty remarked upon by all who met him, and a charming man who captured hearts yet took care to return them unbroken. 

“My dear friends!” he cried upon seeing the siblings, “I have happy news for our heartsore companion—look thou cheerful, Matthew, for I have it on authority that Lord Shirogane hosts a ball to-morrow night, a masquerade, and that my beloved cousin will be in attendance.”

“Pray tell, whose authority is this?” Pidge asked.

“Why, mine own, and that of Lord Shirogane, for I received the invitation from his servant today, and I did hear my cousin swear she shall attend.”

“At this ancient feast of Shirogane’s sups the fair Allura whom thou so lovest, with all the admired beauties of Altea: go thither, and compare her face with some that I shall show, and I will make thee think thy swan a crow.”

“When the devout religion of mine eye maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires. One fairer than my love! The all-seeing sun ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.”

“My friend, thy loyalty to my cousin commendest thou, and she is beautiful, that is true, but go, gaze upon other beauties, just as fair; there are many ways to soothe a broken heart.” Lance rested a hand upon his shoulder. “Put her from your mind, come and crush a cup of wine at the feast, and gaze with us on all the beauties of Altea.”

“I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown, but to rejoice in splendor of mine own.”

❖

Within the bedchamber of the Shirogane mansion, a young man brushed out his hair in long, smooth strokes. This was Shiro: the young grandson of Lord Shirogane, left in his care after his parents passed away a score of years ago. There were many curious things about this youth: the false arm, created by cunning skill to look as though real, the original lost in a fever-haze; the broad scar across his face, that served only to enhance his beauty, as a stroke of color upon a butterfly’s wing; yet by far the most curious thing about this young man was thus: with but few exception, everyone thought him to be a girl, and thus he dressed in skirts by day, and his cousin lent him trousers by night to walk among the town.

“Tell me, dear child,” asked the gentle Lady Shirogane, “How stands your disposition to be married?”

“It is an honor that I dream not of,” Shiro replied carefully.

“Well, dream of marriage now; younger than you, here in Altea, ladies of esteem are made already mothers: by my count, I was a mother much upon these years that you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: the valiant Lotor seeks you for his love.”

Shiro was silent a long while; yet should we have had the chance to gaze into a man’s thoughts we there would find thus:

“Can I endure the livery of a nun, for aye to be in shady cloister trap’d, to live a barren sister all my life? But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d, than that which withering on the virgin thorn grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. Yet so I will grow, so live, so die, ere I will my virgin patent up unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke my soul consents not to give sovereignty.”

“What say you?” said the Lady Shirogane, “Can you love the gentleman? To-morrow night you shall behold him at our feast; read over the volume of young Lotor’s face, and find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. Speak briefly, can you like of Lotor’s love?”

“I’ll look to like,” Shiro said, “If looking liking move.”

Lady Shirogane left, and Shiro spoke aloud his daring plan:

“I’ll attend the feast in such disguise as warrants, braid up my hair and dress in men’s attire; through cunning cuts of cloth I’ll hide my form, and all who look upon me shall see a youth. Should Lotor think to see his maiden bride arrayed in men’s disguise? And yet perhaps another shall turn his eye; for all in masks she may as well be I!”

❖

A masquerade is eternally a magnificent place; the one hosted by the house of Shirogane boasted three-score guests, each in finery and costume, each one with a face concealed by a feathered mask. Wolves danced with sheep, foxes danced an galliard; each costume was more elaborate and fanciful than the last. Some masks were simple and plain, others held great plumes and crests of feathers to put the peacock to shame.

Within the grand room, all lit with candles and the velvet curtains drawn back to let the stars dance, an odd pair sat apart away from the dancers and revelers, speaking between themselves: a fish and an owl, each mask elaborately plumed.

“Nay, Matthew, we must have you dance,” said the fish.

“Not I, believe me,” said the owl in reply, “You have dancing shoes with nimble soles: I have a soul of lead that so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.”

“You are a lover; borrow Cupid’s wings, and soar with them above a common bound.”

“I am too sore, too pierced with his shaft to soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: under love’s heavy burden do I sink.”

“And, to sink in it, you do burden love; too great oppression for a tender thing.”

“Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.”

“If love be rough with you, be rough with love; prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

Yet while they spoke of love and pricking, across the room the host was entering: the Lord Shirogane, in a black mask, and by each side a young man, with simple mask to hide his face and hair; his right wore a white mask, and his left wore red; each mask array'd with brilliant plumes.

To the fish the owl asked: “What man is that? He seems to me aglow, the one wearing the mask of snow. O, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night, like a star within celestial sphere; beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder lord o’er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand, and, touching his, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

Yet his poetry fell not on kindly ears: for Keith, the cousin of Shiro, wore the red mask, and twas he that heard him speak.

“This, by his voice, should be a Holt: fetch me my rapier. What dares the man come hither, cover’d with an antic face, to sneer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honor of my kin, to strike him dead I hold it not a sin.”

“Why, how now, kinsman,” said Lord Shirogane, “Wherefore storm you so?”

“Uncle, this is a Holt, our foe, a villain that is hither come in spite to scorn at our solemnity this night.”

“Young Matthew, is it?”

“’Tis he, that villain Matthew.”

“Content thee, then, let him alone: to say truth, Altea brags of him to be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town her in my house do him disparagement. Therefore be patient, take no note of him. It is my will for thou to show a fair presence and put off these frowns, and ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.”

“It fits when such a villain is a guest; I’ll not endure him.”

“He shall be endured: I say, he shall. Am I the master here, or you? You’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul; you’ll make a mutiny among my guests!”

“Why, uncle, ’tis a shame.”

“Is’t so, indeed? You must contrary me!”

“Patience perforce with willful choler meeting makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw.” Keith bowed, and left, still fuming like a banked fire.

To Matthew and to Shiro we must our attention turn, for these two fatal lovers meet at last; as the music swelled and the lamps burnt bright the dance began. They took hands, sliding their fingers between each other and pressing palm to palm.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,” spoke Matthew, “My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

“Good pilgrim,” replied Shiro, “You do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.” He leaned in and softly kissed Shiro. “Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” Again their lips met, a soft brush no less chaste than a brother’s kiss.

“You kiss by the book,” Shiro accused; yet before either could speak again, or stop their lips with a kiss, a servant appeared.

“Your lady mother craves a word with you,” the servant said to Shiro.

“Then I must away; farewell, good sir, perchance we’ll meet again.”


End file.
